The Eye of the Wolf

by Sadie Vanderveen

  Will leaned in closer, inhaling her scent. Her eyes were dark, deep enough to get lost in. Her lips trembled apart and a faint sigh escaped as her eyes closed. He kept his eyes on her face, memorizing each detail, from the soft rise of her cheekbones to the faint dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. He whispered her name against her lips and felt the warmth of her radiate into him, fill him. The tension knotted itself in his stomach; his legs were weak. He had never felt this physical reaction to anyone, had never felt this longing for anyone, and because of that, he knew this wasn’t meant to be. He knew he wasn’t meant to get this close to anyone, but he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t help falling.

  Tenderly, he pressed his lips to hers. It was barely a whisper of a kiss but it was enough to tear him apart. The scent of her wrapped around him in a warm, welcoming blanket, begging him to come closer, begging to revel in the heat of her. Her lips parted sweetly in compliance though he didn’t increase the pressure of the kiss. Sometimes the sweetest moments, the most luxurious and erotic moments were those moments where there was control though he felt his control slipping away as her hand fisted in his hair.

  It was a whisper of a kiss and it nearly killed him to not pull her close and allow himself to drown within her, to lose himself completely in her and everything about her.

  Mikayla ran her fingers through his silky hair, fisting her fingers in it and praying she wouldn’t wake up and find each moment, each sensation just a wonderful dream. She clung to him: his hand still holding hers when her legs went weak. She felt gloriously molten, as though she might slip through his hands into a pool on the patio. Warmth spread through her and the scent of sand, salt, and man filled her senses until there was nothing else but him. Waves ceased to crash. The wind ceased to blow. Clocks ceased to tick. Time stood still.

  Will trailed his lips along her cheekbones and jaw line. They were feather light. Her skin was like the finest silk from China and slid along his lips in a tortuous trail. A soft moan escaped her lips, driving him to near madness. And then, he felt himself fall over the cliff he had been perched on precariously. He dove over, head first, not caring for that moment where he landed or if he landed. His breath shortened and a pain shot through his chest as he struggled for purchase. He was falling.

  Time began to tick. Waves came back into focus and the wind shifted her hair to brush softly against his cheek. A clock somewhere struck midnight.

  Will tore away from Mikayla and stepped off the porch into the darkness. He refused to look back even when she meekly called his name; her voice breathless and startled. He disappeared into the darkness that surrounded the house. His silhouette fading into nothingness. He disappeared into the darkness that surrounded his life, his heart, and his needs.

  Mikayla’s eyes flew open as he let go of her hand and stepped off of the patio. Confusion flew across her face along with myriad of other emotions. Finally, a wall closed over her features as he disappeared into the darkness of the night. Her heart thundered in her breast, and her breath hitched as realization dawned that he had walked away when she had been prepared to open the door and allow him inside, not just inside her home but inside her life and possibly her heart. She had never allowed anyone to get that close, not even the man she had intended to marry. She was falling. She could feel it. She had stepped off of the cliff knowing there was nothing there to catch her, nothing safe at the bottom. She had jumped off while in his arms praying that he would catch her but willing to take the chance that he wouldn’t. Falling without reaching for the net, without reaching for safety. Falling eternally until she had reached the bottom with a thickening thud in the pit of her stomach. Falling without really knowing the man.

  Mikayla watched his silhouette disappear into the darkness before pushing open the door to her house. She closed it behind her and leaned against the sturdy wood for support. She rubbed a hand over her heart to soothe the pounding away. A single tear rolled down her cheek before she wiped it away impatiently.

  It was silly, she thought. She had only known him for a month. She had been engaged up until two months ago to another man. It was silly to believe that this man, this man who had come from nowhere, could possibly be the love of her life. It was silly to believe that love was possible. People needed to know each other for a long time to get to know one another before they could fall in love. This wasn’t possible. This was some silly island created euphoria, romantic ideal that didn’t fit her personality or her plan for life. But just because it was some silly dream didn’t mean his rejection hurt any less than if it hadn’t been imagined. But it certainly hadn’t felt silly. It had felt painfully real. Painfully wonderful. Her lips still trembled from the kiss, proving that it had been real, even if just for that moment in time.

  Mikayla flipped the lock and climbed the stairs to the rooms above. She reached for the phone and dialed a number she knew by heart. She suddenly realized that she needed Carolyn, her best friend since college. Her mentor in a world that didn’t fit with modern society.

  She listened to the buzzing of the phone across an ocean, picturing Carolyn’s apartment in New York. The creamy walls mutely lit from recessed lighting designed to showcase the antiquities in their glass cases, protected from the air but designed to be treasured. Carolyn Shuler, with her deep brown hair and deeper brown eyes was a treasure in herself. She had, as a graduate student at Boston College, taken a shy, gawky undergraduate under her wing and showed her how thrilling the discovery of ancient artifacts could be. She had shown Mikayla the romance of history when it was studied and lived. Carolyn had become more during those three years of studies than just a mentor, but a trusted advisor.

  Mikayla grinned as Carolyn’s voice floated over the miles between them. “Hey, Carrie!”

  Carolyn laughed with delight, warming Mikayla to the bone. “Well, it is almost as if magic had happened. I was just thinking of you.” Static crackled in her ear. “How are you, Dear?”

  Mikayla suddenly felt herself overwhelmed with homesickness, missing her friends, her family. Missing the world she had known, not this one where she didn’t know where to turn or what to do. She choked back the tears that swamped her, knowing that crying on Carolyn’s shoulder would do no good, even though it was what she wanted more than anything. “Amor is amazing, Carrie! It is so warm and beautiful. I’m sure the snow of New York is just as warm.”

  Carolyn laughed over the lines. “Very funny! We just had a huge blizzard yesterday. They are still trying to clean up the side streets. I envy you in your tropical research station.” There was a pause and laughter filled Carolyn’s voice. “Do you by any chance need any help?”

  Mikayla paused. Was this why she had called? She hadn’t known she was calling Carolyn until her fingers had dialed the number. She hadn’t known how much she needed a friend who knew her inside and out. She knew the need of a research assistant wasn’t why she had called. She had called because of those intense feelings for Will that she couldn’t control and the feelings of rejection that she had been left with when he had walked away. She took a deep breath, prepared to tell Carolyn that she wasn’t in need of anything, just homesick, when Carolyn’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

  “So, what is his name?” Her voice was cheerful, with just a hint of the northeast that had always been her home regardless of the many countries she had visited during her career.

  “Excuse me?”

  Carolyn’s laughter tinkled like fine crystal. “I said, Darling, what is his name? That pregnant of a pause means only one thing, there is a man and he is a conundrum.” She waited a beat, waited for Mikayla’s answer or denial, but there was nothing except the faint sound of tears. “Mikayla, what is it?”

  Mikayla smiled. Somehow, even though her mind hadn’t known she needed this friend, her heart had known and had connected with her. “His name is Will.”

  Carolyn laughed again. Relief flooded through her even as the phone crackled. She had always worried about Mikayla’s
dedication to her career, leaving romance to others. Denying that part inside everyone that seeks Prince Charming. Deep inside, she had always known that Mikayla was a romantic at heart, otherwise, she wouldn’t have chosen a time period of knights-in-shining-armor and Shakespeare as her specialty. Only the truly romantic focused on the time when pirates ruled the high seas and men dedicated battles and poetry to queens. Mikayla might deny the romantic within her, but Carolyn knew it was there. She was pleased to know Mikayla’s drive to be the best hadn’t forced those ideas of love out of her completely. “So, tell me about this Will.”

  Mikayla sighed. “Well, he’s tall, blond, with the stormiest gray eyes I have ever seen. His smile is warm, light a sun-beam…” Her voice tapered off as Carolyn’s laughter rang over the lines. “What are you laughing at?” Mikayla’s voice was indignant, but she realized what her voice had sounded like: poetic, wistful. Mikayla laughed slightly herself.

  “He sounds incredible.” Carolyn paused, “so what’s the problem?”

  Mikayla sighed again and sank into the desk chair that she had never tried in the month that she had been in Amor. “The problem?” She shrugged her shoulders. “I guess there is no problem, except…”

  “Except what, Mikayla?”

  Mikayla frowned. “Except that he lives here and I’ll be leaving in another two months. And whenever he’s around, I feel all warm and fluttery inside. I can’t concentrate. I can’t get anything done. And then, he kisses me and my brain goes completely numb.”

  Caroyln made quiet noises as she listened, intrigued by the idea of Mikayla on a fairy tale island with a handsome man at her side, kissing her mindless. “That sounds like a real problem.” She said wryly.

  Mikayla grinned and brushed her hair out of her face. “I guess from across the pond it doesn’t sound so horrid, huh. But, you aren’t here!”

  “No darling, you’re right. I’m not there, but I do know something about finding a handsome beach-bum on some foreign shore and falling desperately in love.”

  Mikayla smirked. She supposed Carolyn was right in that description since she had met her husband, Ali, in Egypt where he had been a curator at the Cairo Museum of Antiquities. “I’m not falling in love.” Mikayla huffed.

  “Hmm, if you say so, Dear.” Carolyn smiled as Ali wandered into the kitchen seeking out his breakfast.

  “Well, I do say so.” Mikayla defended shocked at the suggestion. Inside, her stomach turned over at the thought that she had allowed herself to fall, to fall in love with a man that could never be hers because they were just too different. She shook her head. No, she wasn’t in love. Lust, definitely, but love was not a possibility. Love didn’t fit into her plans, to be the most respected historian professor by the time she was 30.

  “Okay, whatever.” Carolyn had known Mikayla long enough to know that this conversation, at least at that moment, was going to go nowhere. Changing the subject would be best. “So, tell me what else you have been up to? How’s the research going?”

  Mikayla made a noise that expressed her dissatisfaction. “Slowly.” Then, her mind cleared and Will was pushed to the background. She grabbed at the notepad where she had stashed the rubbings from the rock on the top of the mountain. “Carolyn, if I send you a copy of a rubbing that I made, could you translate it for me or at least tell me something about it?”

  Carolyn sat up straight, intrigued. It didn’t happen very often that their individual research projects crossed paths, but it was always exciting when they did. “Tell me more.”

  “Well, the island was originally populated by people from Greece, and I found a carving of a language that is similar to Greek, but I can’t translate it. My ancient Greek isn’t good enough.” Mikayla held the rubbing up to the light, studying it. She wished she knew what those letters meant, what they pointed to.

  Carolyn shrugged. “Sure, I guess. Fax it to the museum today.”

  “Thanks, Carrie!” Mikayla smiled and relaxed a little. She described her adventures and the people of the island before hanging up for the night. She felt better; her chest wasn’t heavy with the disappointment that had plagued her when Will had walked away into the darkness. She was refreshed and ready to tackle the project that had been given to her. She stood from her chair and flipped out the lights.

  The servant turned away from the window where moonlight glinted in blond hair as the darkness of Amor lengthened and blanketed the peaceful island. The fire was dying in the hearth. The Wolf’s eyes glowed brighter in the deepening shadows.

  “It is done, Sire.”

  The Wolf’s eyes bobbed in the darkness, a symbol of assent. “You have done well, my servant. You will be rewarded when my plan is complete.”

  The servant smirked, white teeth glowing through the darkness. “Of course, Sire.” A syringe filled with golden liquid tapped against the table. The next phase of the plan was set in motion, someone somewhere would not see the next sunrise.

  Chapter 11

  The guard leading Mikayla up the skinny, hand-carved, stone staircase paused at the tall gate preventing further passage. He spoke in low tones to the guards on the other side of the gate who looked her up and down before unlocking the gate and opening it.

  Mikayla smoothed down the front of her navy suit, the most formal piece of attire she had thought to bring with her. Her feet already ached in their practical heels from the climb up the staircase. She had been advised to not speak unless spoken to after her notebook was thumbed through, her pen was taken apart to inspect for, she could only assume, some type of weapon, and she was frisked by the guards who had knocked on her door at eight a.m. sharp to escort her to the Secluded City. She felt violated in some way. She had wanted to wait for Will, hoping he might have returned, nervous about ascending to the heights without a friendly face nearby, but the guards had hustled her from her house and begun the climb upwards.

  Mikayla was ushered through the large, gilt opening into a lush courtyard vibrant with greens, reds, pinks, and purples. Roses of every color dripped from window boxes and filled the air with fragrant scents. Palm trees leaned over the grass heavily laden with coconuts. A fountain bubbled in the center. A mermaid sat upon the stone pedestal pouring water from a stone jug into the pool. Crystal blue water poured forth, glistening in the heat of the morning sun. The scales of the mermaid’s fin glittered in the sunlight from the copper used to cast her form. Around the fountain were stone benches created to enjoy the freshness of the fountain and the surrounding courtyard.

  Mikayla decided it was a beautiful spot, lovingly tended by some gentle hand who appreciated the finer points in life. It didn’t fit with the image of the fortress from outside of the city. It was delicate, feminine. The fortress was designed with a purpose, while the courtyard was designed with frivolity and innocence. Mikayla wished for her camera but had to settle on taking stills in her mind, memorizing the details.

  Mikayla came back into the present and shielded her eyes against the glare of the sun. Rene Dejeune strode across the courtyard from a tall archway. He waved his chapeau at her and called her name again.

  Dejeune rushed across the courtyard in several long strides. His dark suit was a stark contrast to the brilliant colors of the garden. He took Mikayla’s hand and shook it coolly. His dark eyes darted in all directions but didn’t rest on her face or make contact with her own. His hand, though cool, was clammy. “I apologize for my absence, Dr. Knight. I have been very busy in Paris.” Mikayla inclined her head graciously and allowed Dejeune to lead her across the courtyard to the archway he had come from. “I hope you have been successful in your research up to this point. I realize there probably isn’t that much to find in that musty Hall of Records, but it is as good as a place to begin as any.”

  Mikayla murmured a reply she hoped sounded positive. Her eyes and mind were busy remembering details. The arch they passed under was high; the blocks were set at perfect angles supporting the distributed weight of the white bricks that made up the walls of th
e courtyard. The style was distinctively Roman, very similar to the aqueducts throughout Europe and northern Africa. She made a mental note to remember that fact.

  As they approached a pair of tall, mahogany doors, two servants dressed in morning suits stepped from the shadows and glided the doors open, allowing Dejeune and Mikayla to step through, their path uninterrupted as Dejeune began outlining the architectural history of the Secluded City. Mikayla made quick notes on her notepad, but she knew that what he was telling her, she had already read in a book of architectural history. She exhaled a huff.

  Mikayla allowed her eyes to roam and her mind to take mental pictures as they walked along the long, marble corridor. The marble was a soft green that reminded Mikayla of a field in the early morning when the dew was on the grass. Its surface shone like glass and reflected Mikayla’s face back to her. The walls were covered in large paintings of previous monarchs and important family members. They were a combination of the humanistic beliefs of the Renaissance painters and the divine interpretation of the Medieval painters. It was a stunning and intriguing combination. The eyes of each painting seemed to leap from the canvas, whether it be in anger as the painting of King Hobart or in jest like that of Prince Roland both from the late 1700s. Mikayla paused at the painting of the famed King Malachi whose diary she had found in the Hall of Records. She opened her mouth to tell Dejeune about her discovery, but something in the air stopped her. She looked out of the corner of her eye at Dejeune who was gesturing wildly to the use of color and brush stroke in the painting of Malachi. Something about the fear in his eyes warned her to not mention her discovery. Some internal warning raised her hackles, making her uncomfortable in his presence. She simply nodded and turned her attention back to the painting.

  Malachi’s figure stared down at her, a sneer on his lips. It was almost as if she could read his thoughts. Instead of shuddering as Mikayla thought she should have, she felt an unnatural pull to the painting. She looked up at his finely chiseled face and saw the defined chin and strong cheekbones that showed strength of man and of character. Malachi’s tempestuous gray eyes pierced Mikayla’s thoughts. She stepped closer and reached up a hand. Malachi’s eyes were so familiar. They seared her soul and caused her to drop her hand to her mouth in astonishment.